


The Stutter

by Ms_Julius



Category: Crash Bandicoot (Video Games)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-04
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-07-06 23:16:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15896127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Julius/pseuds/Ms_Julius
Summary: Brio is struggling with his stutter.Tropy is there to offer his own point of view.





	The Stutter

It wouldn’t stop.

No matter what he tried.

Glancing at the mirror once again, Brio let out a silent sigh as the reflection gazing back at him revealed the frustration curling inside him. The lighting of the room around him didn’t offer much chance to view himself further, and since there were no windows to lighten the space, he was left with a nagging impression that was little of a comfort.

Two hours had passed by now while he had stood in his bathroom, hands fisted by his sides and eyes nailed to the stubborn twist of his lips. Why couldn’t he make this work? Surely there was a way to at least reduce the effect, if not erase it altogether? There has to be.

He refused to believe these past months had been a waste.

Drawing in a deep breath, he leaned over the sink again, hands pressed against the porcelain. His voice came out with a tremble, but he forced his way over it with a determined huff.

“My name is Nitrus Br - Nitrus Bri -” he gasped, eyes screwing shut in annoyance. “My n-name is -”

“You are still trying?”

The sudden voice coming from the doorway caused Brio to jump, his hands slipping from where they’d been squeezed around the edges of the washbasin. The only thing allowing him to maintain his balance was the low stool resting next to his legs, bearing part of his weight.

“You do realise that this hasn’t brought on any progress in the past, right?”

A tall figure standing before him took a long step forward, coming to stop beside him, the expression on his face unimpressed. As the blue eyes shifted down onto him, Brio resisted the urge to back up, a reflex that had been carved into his spine by the noisy, inbred packs of tormentors during his days in school. Now he held his ground and raised his head to meet the cold gaze drilling into him.

“I-if I want your opini - opi - opinion, I’ll a-ask, Tropy!”

“Never have I heard you asking for anyone’s opinion, let alone advice,” the physicist said with a smirk. “Even when one would be needed.”

Brio didn’t have an answer to that, so he opted to turn back to the sink, glaring at the mirror. He’d hoped for an evening of silence and peace, but then again, in this particular castle it was a feeble wish.

“How long have you been at this tonight, Brio?” There was a serious undertone to the words, one that left no room for lies.

Tensing his fingers against the cold, grounding surface of the vase, Brio muttered, “Couple of h-hours.”

“Hmm.” Tropy had stepped closer, frowning as he took a deeper look at the pale face before him. “May I ask you a personal question?”

That caused Brio to glance up, a scowl finding its way on his own lips. “And w-what mi-might that be?” They weren’t exactly close friends, not per se, but out of all the people living at their current hideout, Tropy was one of the few who he’d known more than a mere week or two. And despite what others might think, the two scientist didn’t really have any major quarrel between them. They disagreed professionally, yes, but never at the personal level.

However, it seemed that Tropy was going to cross that line, leaning in and locking his eyes with Brio’s widened ones. His voice was level, soothing even, when he spoke out, “Who are you doing this for?”

For a moment Brio merely stared at him, not quite sure what to say. Rarely, if ever, had anyone asked him a straightforward question like that, and never had anyone had the patience to hear him out until the end of his answer. Therefore it took him a good few minutes to compose himself before he managed to come up with a reply.

“I am d-doing this b-because,” he had to take a short breath, fingers tapping anxiously against the porcelain, “because others h-have pro-problems u-understanding my -”

“That is a poor reason!” The sudden roughness in the recently smooth voice jerked his head up, and the grim look on Tropy’s face made his gut tighten. There must have been something visible in his eyes as well, because soon after Tropy tilted his head, masking his outburst with a wave of a hand.

“My apologies. That was a bit too harsh.” When Brio simply stared at him, he went on, “I’m only trying to make a point here for you.”

“Oh?” Brio was out of his depth, badly so.

Fortunately, Tropy appeared to be more than happy to carry on the conversation all by himself. “If the stutter bothers you, I won’t oppose the idea of working on it. But you should think carefully _why_ is it bothering you.” He took a quick glimpse at Brio’s baffled face, a small frown once again rising on between his brows. “If the other people are the problem, I fail to see how you’re held responsible to change yourself for them.”

“B-but it ma-makes talking to the-them nearly impo-impossible!” Brio exclaimed, throwing one of his arms up for emphasis. “And t-that is my fa-fault!” He could hear the bitterness in his words, but clutched on a vain hope that perhaps Tropy wouldn’t.

And yet he did. Far too easily for Brio’s liking.

“No, it is not,” Tropy said, his eyes growing fierce again. “If people are so ignorant that they have no time to listen what you have to say, I’ll say they were not worth talking to in the first place.”

A silence following the statement was a long one. In his years of research, and during his time in school, Brio had never seen anyone defending his right to speak despite the obvious detriments it placed on listeners. They’d always rolled their eyes at him, asking him to talk more clearly, or offered a bunch of useless suggestions to ‘speak slower’ or ‘think before each word’.

For the first time, someone pointed out that perhaps he was not the problem.

It light up something warm inside of him. He found himself liking it quite a bit.

Just as he as about to speak again, to convey his silent gratitude to Tropy, he noticed that the room around him was empty. Not a trace of the other man, although he had been standing here a hardly a minute ago. Of that Brio was more than certain. Then his nose caught a slight scent of a burning metal, and when he glanced down, he saw a pile of soot at his feet, next to the desktop.

The vortex. Of course.

With a sigh, Brio reached out and wrapped his hand around the string leading up to the lightbold. The room was overcome by the darkness as he pulled, the reflection looking back at him vanishing with the light. Before he walked out of the door, Brio scooped up the heap of ash, carefully disposing it into the trash can nearby.

He’d find the time to tell Tropy eventually.

He actually wanted to.


End file.
